


A Soldier's End

by Vandroy



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Drama, M/M, Psychological Drama, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vandroy/pseuds/Vandroy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War for Cybertron has drained all of the planet's resources, all of it's life.</p>
<p>Without a reason to keep fighting that mindless war where nobody have anything to gain, and everything to lose, Mirage decide to escape the planet, and invite Cliffjumper, his beloved one, to go with him.</p>
<p>But telling a soldier to not fight is against his very nature, even though Cliffjumper knows his lover is right. There is no point in that war anymore, and staying there can only mean death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soldier's End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ironic_Dave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironic_Dave/gifts).



> This is my very first Transformers work, and for a pairing that I sort of consider one of the most important for me.
> 
> While this may or not become the prelude for a series for that pairing, I don't know, it will depend on how good I feel about this work (And I can't tell yet).
> 
> I hope you enjoy some heavy drama and reflections because I happened to throw a lot of those in there.
> 
> All in all, I hope you like it.

Not there. Not in that scrapped piles of what once were companions and foes alike. Not under such a gray sky filled with heavy remains of the engines of war that now only echoes inside his own head. That's not a good place to meet his end.

As the once called "One-bot-army" lied on the rusty and ravaged ground of wars, his optics slowly failing himself the sight were aimed at the sky, but that's not what he was seeing. What his processors were giving him, were memories of a better time, memories that never happened, and never will. Memories of times he never spent with a dear one, and then, regret.  
Regret for never again saying "I love you too". Regret for not telling to stay, because without him, life would no longer make sense. Regret for things that never have been said, or heard. Heard by him, the only one who mattered by now.

A smile suddenly took place on what was left of his face, among the scratches and ruptures all over the metal. An empty smile, weak as his vital signals hinted failure; permanent failure. A smile of acceptance. A smile meaning nothing but a silent "I'm sorry". An eternal smile now frozen in time among all of those nameless faces and limbs that gathered all around him. Soon enough he would just be one more corpse on the battlefield, just a name to be forgotten by those who lived, or mourned by those who still could connect a name to a face, a face to a voice, and a voice to a word.

"Mirage!" Cliffjumper said as he slammed the panel by the wall with almost a punch, resulting on the metal door to slowly slide down "I cannot believe you're trying to escape! I always knew you were who you are, but never expected that! Even from you!"

The red, short Autobot burst into the room, once again making the loud noise of slamming both of his hands at Mirage's desk, knocking many of his belongings to the floor. His voice could be only described as angry.

The noble cybertronian stared in silence, one that kind of silence that made him famous. As if he understood what the shorter one was trying to say, and couldn't even deny or argue with him. Honestly, Mirage wouldn't argue with 'jumper even if he could, he knew better than that but to not waste his time. The red one were too stubborn to understand something before too late, and by the look at his face, Mirage could only expect it to not be too late once he realized it.

After being replied with sharp crude silence, Cliffjumper tried to calm himself by lowering his voice, for starters. By the corner of his optics he could picture a wallet, and several personal belongings now on the floor. Among them, one in special called his attention, leading him to knell and recover it. Silence once again ruled supreme.

It was a small, really poorly made replica of a turbofox, which Cliffjumper gave to Mirage several cycles ago, since he was already tired of hearing the taller one mentioning never being able to catch one. "Now you better not complain again, dumb butt!" He could still remember perfectly the gentle smile that Mirage gave him, and the kiss that resulted of that moment. He was surprised however that the blue Autobot still kept it, given how rich he was and how many manufactured and better looking replicas he could buy, compared to that one that could be mistaken by a sparkling's work.

"Why do you have to leave?" said Cliffjumper, basically from between his teeth as he still stared at that replica.

"This is no longer my war; our war." the noble one finally said, with his indeed deep and iconic voice and tone, one's really to be appreciated. "We don't have to kill in the name of something we don't mean. We don't have to die for it."

When Cliffjumper noticed, Mirage's hands were just by his, holding them together along with that small Turbofox toy. He still had hope to convince the other to come along with him, and his points were valid for many others, not only Autobots but Decepticons alike.

These days nobody knew what they were fighting for anymore. Both sides had their losses, their victories, but that lasted for so long, that nobody could tell who stood for what. What ideals were trying to be conquered or freed. Who were the real villains and heroes on that war. The war became pointless, and Mirage noticed it in time.

"Come with me, jumper. We can start a new life somewhere out there. Somewhere still untouched by the taint of this mindless war. Somewhere meant only for us." by now, one of his hands were holding Cliffjumper's chin, rising it high enough so they could maintain some optic contact, given the evident difference of heights between both of them.

No answer.

The red Autobot just lowered his face once again, looking aside. He knew Mirage was right, but he just couldn't turn his back to all of that. To every companion he lost during that stupid war. To every cybertronian he could save if he once ever defeated the Decepticons. To that small spark of hope to once again being able to call Cybertron "Home".

He didn't needed an answer. Mirage on the other hand, already knew there were no hope at trying to convince Cliffjumper to travel with him. He knew his darling too much to insist against his very nature; a nature that even himself didn't knew yet, but was crystal clear to the noble. One cannot tell a soldier to not fight.

Cliffjumper stayed there, in silence, by the quick nano-kliks Mirage took to reassemble his packages and get ready to leave. The other didn't complained, he wouldn't. Even though no words were exchanged during that time, it was clear to them what they meant.

Both expected that moment to last long enough to be "Forever", and in a way, it was. That would be the last time they would see each other, touch each other. It would last forever for each of them, on a very personal and private way. A moment that has been sealed with a kiss.

An unannounced kiss from Mirage, who before passing by the smaller one, took his lips with his own to embrace on that touch that only they knew how to. That moment was the exact description of what some tells death looks like, but the death of two. Their lives flashed before their optics by the time the kiss lasted. All their moments. All their very intimate jokes that only both could understand, and laugh like stupid bots at the nothing.

At that moment, both of them knew they'd never see each other again.

No word were said as the door once again slide up and down, taking away from him the figure of the one he always hold dear, leaving behind just what his memory would make up of him.

Cliffjumper now knew how it felt to lose someone, and the cycles that followed that moment, were as grim to him as that whole war has been to the entire planet. It slowly became pointless even to the red Autobot, but he couldn't stop fighting. He didn't knew why he was shooting, who he was shooting at, and what would be of him if that goddamn war ended.

He had plans once, he had a reason to fight for, he could live with his friends and love in peace once again if he defeated the Decepticon rebellion, but with the flow of time, all of that lost his meaning. His friends, slowly became nothing but corpses by his own feet. His home, an infinite graveyard that reached as far as the optics could see, and his love, was light years away among the stars, just because he wasn't bold or smart enough to say two words: Don't leave.

He was a soldier. He always have been a soldier, and one of the best soldiers Cybertron have ever seen. But it's easy to kill when you have something to fight for. It's easy to kill someone you hate, someone who have done something to you or your friends. It's easy to kill to save someone you love. But now, Cliffjumper couldn't feel the hate for the enemy anymore. Nor he had someone to protect, and what he fought for couldn't even be explained or understood.

He was now killing just for killing.

The real enemy, holder of the hate he once felt, became himself. Hate and regret for that war, blaming it on the only person who seemed responsible for the losses: Himself. Blaming the fact that he never even considered to see the situation by Mirage's viewpoint, and follow him into a new life.

Blaming himself for not accepting to be wrong.

All of those feeling quickly became one, stronger feeling of pain, as fast as the strike of lightning, and that's the only comparison Cliffjumper could think of on that moment. He didn't felt his feet at the ground anymore; honestly, he couldn't feel his feet at all. A bright light came afterwards, followed by fire and then smoke, silent and deadly.

The Soldier were now laying in the middle of a whole made by a projectile, a big one, one more of the machines of war that constantly destroyed Cybertron and its population, but now, it destroyed his life.

There. In that scrapped piles of what once were companions and foes alike. Under such a gray sky filled with heavy remains of the engines of war that now only echoes inside his own head. That's a good place to meet his end.

A soldier's end.


End file.
